by P. J. Conn
"If it would make you feel better, go ahead and ask. You also need to have the publicity department save any letters addressed to you that are in any way threatening. They need to keep the envelopes with them, so I can pay a call on anyone who needs a personal warning to stay away."
"You'd do that?"
"If they're local, sure, it's part of my service."
He hadn't been asked to trace dangerous fans for anyone else, but he was game to try. "I would like an autographed photo for my fiancée. Her name is Mary Margaret."
"It will be in the mail for you today."
* * *
Joe picked up the photos from Pete's Cameras, took them to his office, and laid them on his desk.
When CC came by, he invited him to offer an opinion. "Look at these, will you? I'm trying to impress Mary Margaret's mother. I need to look wholesome rather than dangerous."
"Wholesome?" CC mused thoughtfully. "Mary Margaret looks real pretty, doesn't she?"
Joe noted CC had dodged his request. "She sure is. With any luck, she's all her mother will see."
"I like this one," CC offered. "It's a more relaxed pose, and you're leaning into each other. That's real sweet."
"Thank you. Sweet is exactly what I need."
CC picked up the wastebasket to empty. "I took my wife to see Arizona Sunrise last night."
Joe held his breath. "What did you think?"
"You're the best part of the movie. You looked like a real cowboy, and we both wished you'd had a bigger part."
"That was all I could handle," Joe confessed, "but thank you anyway, I appreciate your support."
"Any time, Mr. Ezell." He emptied the wastebasket into the trash container he rolled down the hall, and left Joe to ponder the photographs on his own.
When the phone rang, Joe counted to three before answering. "Discreet Investigations."
"Yes, thank you. The man I've been seeing might be married. A friend said I needed a detective to find the truth. Do you do that kind of thing?"
"I most certainly do, Miss...."
"I'm Grace Adams. Do you have time to see me today? I want to get this over with quickly before I lose my courage."
"Can you be here in the next half hour?"
"Perfect. I have the address."
Joe told her good-bye, took out a new manila folder, and reached for a legal pad to take notes. This was the type of follow and photograph case he did most often, and wouldn't be nearly as exciting as being on the MGM lot yesterday.
* * *
Grace Adams proved to be older than Joe had expected, easily in her sixties. She wore her silver hair in an attractive bob, sat with a proud straight posture, and was remarkably pretty.
"I met Louis Dowell at the Beverly Hills Library six months ago. We were both browsing the mystery section and struck up a conversation about favorite authors. We each checked out a book the other had recommended, and met for coffee later in the week to discuss them. I liked him right away because he's intelligent, and fun. I've invited him to dinner in my home several times, but he's never free to come."
She laid an index card on the desk. "Here's his address, and telephone number. He sent me a card for my birthday last month, and the address in the telephone book matches the return address. I'm not going to ring the bell at his home when his wife might answer."
"It always pays to be cautious," Joe agreed. "Other than not accepting your dinner invitations, is there anything else that troubles you about Louis?"
"No, not really. He says he's a retired corporate attorney. He never mentions being married. I'm a widow and won't bore any man with sweet memories of my late husband, but I always make it clear I've been married."
"Did you ever ask him if he'd been married?"
"I should have, shouldn't I? After knowing him for six months, it's too late now, isn't it?"
"Not necessarily, but if you'd like me to discover how Louis spends his evenings, I'll be glad to do so. If he lives with his wife, it will be impossible to hide. When will you see him again?"
"We meet at noon on Fridays." She gave him the library address, and paid his retainer.
"I'll be there, but if you happen to see me, ignore me as though we'd ever met."
"I understand, Mr. Ezell. It will be our secret."
"Exactly." Now, he had to get ready for a tea party.
Chapter 8
Constance Remson's white columned home resembled Scarlett O'Hara's Tara, in Gone With The Wind. It was larger than the frat houses at USC; it was just plain huge. With tall hedges masking the long curved driveway, it wasn't visible from the street. The front gate was open to the sidewalk, and a bouquet of bronze and gold chrysanthemums streaming orange ribbons added a welcoming touch.
Joe had come early, but the front door was already open, and Constance answered his knock. In a beautiful print dress in vivid fall colors, she looked to be part of the festive decorations.
"It's such a beautiful day, I thought we'd be happier on the terrace by the pool than indoors."
He followed her down a long wall outside to the terrace, where seven circular tables with pale gold tablecloths and centerpieces of chrysanthemums matching the bouquet on the gate added a colorful touch. A wide stretch of deep green lawn framed the fenced pool. It appeared close to Olympic in size, and past it, there were tennis courts.
"Lovely place you have here," he complimented sincerely.
"My father's family struck oil in Texas, and my parents have thoroughly enjoyed their success. They're at the Balboa Island house today, and will miss all the fun. The tiny sandwiches, scones, and sweets are ready to be served, and we'll pour plenty of champagne as well as tea. I'm hoping for a relaxed afternoon, where conversation will flow easily, and you might find answers to any questions you ask."
She glanced at her watch. "We have a few minutes before the first guests arrive. Please feel free to tour the house while I make a last check on our kitchen staff."
He wasn't sure where to begin, but retraced their path to the front door and turned into the living room. The walls were a vivid blue, with tasteful furnishings in shades of blue and gold. The art on the walls had to be originals. He wondered if Constance ever played the baby grand piano.
A door opened into a study, with bookcases lining the walls, with popular fiction among the leather-bound volumes of the classics. He sat at the desk, removed his notebook from his sport coat pocket, and made a few notes. He wouldn't naively ask if any of the ladies had enjoyed a close friendship with Matteo. He'd simply mention the cellist's name, and welcome whatever the response might be.
Constance returned to the front door to welcome her guests as they arrived. Dressed for an afternoon tea, they wore attractive suits, or full-skirted dresses with narrow belts to emphasize a trim waist. Their hats were small and cute, and all had worn dainty white gloves.
Two maids in black dresses with snowy white aprons showed them to the tables on the terrace and poured champagne into the delicate crystal flutes at each place. When the first table had six women giggling over the champagne, Joe joined them.
"Good afternoon, ladies. I'm Joe Ezell, a private detective, and I'm working with Miss Remson on Matteo da Milano's untimely death. This is such a lovely party, isn't it? I swear my whole family could live here and not run into each other in a week."
As he'd expected, the comment on the palatial estate drew smiles and put them at ease. "Do you all know each other?" he asked.
The ladies gave their names, along with their husband's instrument. "This is such a wonderful idea," a woman named Geraldine enthused. "The board does so much for the Philharmonic, and it's so nice Miss Remson wanted to do something for us."
Joe offered a word here and there between bites of the small cucumber sandwiches. He thought teas were the only place they were served. He'd never heard anyone say they were looking forward to eating the cucumber sandwiches they'd brought in their bag lunch from home.
The woman next to Joe leaned close. "Do you hav
e any idea who might have killed Matteo?"
"I'm still gathering information. Do you have any thoughts?"
The other conversations at the table abruptly ceased. "My worry is that other members of the orchestra might also be in danger," a young woman named Karen exclaimed.
The woman by her side scoffed. "No music lover would have killed Matteo. It had to have been one of his many women who took offense at his behavior. I heard tomcats are choosier."
Laura, the prettiest woman at the table concentrated on a scone. "I'm sure that's not true, and we shouldn't gossip about the dead."
"On the contrary," Joe interjected. "A casual remark might reveal an important clue." When no one offered anything he hadn't known, he passed out his business cards, excused himself, and moved on to the next table to introduce himself.
Constance Remson waited until all her guests had arrived to extend a warm welcome. "Thank you for responding to my invitation. I'd hoped to provide an opportunity for all of us to become better acquainted away from the concert hall." She complimented them on their devotion to their talented husbands, as well as their enthusiasm for the symphony.
The woman who'd introduced herself as Eunice to Joe's left leaned close to whisper, "Do you suppose there are any of Matteo's girlfriends among us?"
"Maybe, what have you heard?" he replied.
She checked to make certain the others at the table where listening to Constance. "Only that he was fishing off a dock too close to home, if you know what I mean."
"I do. There are many beautiful woman here today."
"There are, but from what I heard, he liked them young."
Joe glanced over his shoulder at Karen, who'd worried other members of the orchestra might be in danger. Had she wanted to focus the attention on the musicians rather than risk speculation on Matteo's pretty conquests?
The women at each table he joined were curious as to what he had learned, but none offered any significant new information. They all had his cards, however, and he hoped to might hear from one of them soon.
He stood with Constance as she bid her guests goodbye. True to her usual mood, she closed the front door with a deep sigh, as though being pleasant all afternoon had been unbearably taxing. "This was a really nice party, and no one appeared to suspect they were here solely to talk about Matteo. Let's finish the last of the champagne."
Once seated on the terrace, she took a tiny bite of a sugar cookie topped with chopped pecans. "They did have fun, didn't they? I might make this a yearly event. Did you learn anything useful?"
"I did hear a whisper or two that Matteo might have been seeing one of the young women here, and there were some beauties among them. Sean Dermot came to see me, and from what he said about the orchestra's rehearsal, and performance schedules, it would have been difficult to arrange the logistics of avoiding the husbands to date one of the wives."
"Matteo was free when the husbands were also, is that what he meant?"
"Yes, but perhaps he enjoyed the risk in seducing other musicians' wives."
Constance shook her head. "It's a shame you never met Matteo. He was a veritable wizard with a magical charm. If he smiled at a woman, she would give herself to him willingly, so not much in the way of seduction was required. That's why I came to you in the first place. I couldn't believe his lavish declarations of love were real."
Joe could have argued Matteo might have wanted to have a life with her, but she was far too cynical to believe such a remote impossibility could exist. "Each of your guests left with one of my business cards, and one might call me with information she wouldn't disclose in front of others."
"Let's hope. Would you like to take the rest of the scones with you? Otherwise, I'll just reduce them to crumbs and feed them to the birds."
"Sure, I'd love to take the scones. Were they baked here?"
"Everything came from our kitchen. The cook's food is sublime. I'll get you a bag. Before you go, I have a check for you. Will you give me your home telephone number in case something occurs to me after your office hours?"
"Sure." He didn't usually give it out, but she wasn't the typical client by any means, and he wrote it on the back of his card. He'd deposit her check first thing in the morning. Now, he'd call the Larsons and hope Ida was gone for good.
* * *
He called them from his office. "It's Joe Ezell, how are things going for you there."
"No one has even tripped over a loose shoe lace, so I'd say they are going well," Doug Larson exclaimed. "We don't even mention the name of the person we wished gone for fear of conjuring her up again, but Eleanor doesn't feel her presence as she used to. I'd say Reverend Hatcher did the trick. Please thank him for us."
"I will. Let me know when you open your antique store, and I'll come by."
"Sure will. It will be such fun to decorate for the holidays, we're hoping to be open before Christmas."
Joe wondered if Doug ever dressed like Santa, but was too polite to ask.
He made his next call to Hal Marten at California West Insurance. "The ceremony the reverend conducted for the Larsons appears to have banished their ghost. Could you bring my check when we meet for golf on Saturday? I want to split the money with Rev. Hatcher."
"I will, it will save you a trip downtown. How are you doing with the cellist's murder?"
"Slow but sure, I'm afraid. See you on Saturday."
* * *
Mary Margaret found the scones absolutely delicious. "These are wonderful, Joe, so light and flavorful, but I can't picture you at a tea party."
"The wives of the Philharmonic were quite welcoming, and each left with my business card. One of them might know something she'd not confide in front of others."
She licked a crumb from her lips. "Matteo appears to have been tireless in his pursuit of women. It's surprising he had time to even tune his cello, let alone play."
"I've thought the same thing." She was such a sensible girl, he doubted she would have fallen for Matteo's well-practiced charms. It was also a relief she'd never met him.
* * *
Friday afternoon, Joe drove to the Beverly Hills Library to see what Louis Dowell looked like to avoid a waste of time in following the wrong man. Walking among the stacks, he appeared to be earnestly searching for a title without success. Grace and Louis were seated in a nook by an arched window and enveloped in the rosy glow of the afternoon sunshine.
Joe remained where he could watch them without being noticed. Louis laughed at something Grace had said, and reached out to touch her arm. His gray hair was clipped short, his dress shirt sparkling white, and his tan slacks looked freshly pressed. His brown loafers shone from a recent polishing. When they stood, Joe followed. After they'd checked out their books at the counter, Louis walked Grace to her car, and then got into a black Ford sedan.
After quickly making a note of the license plate, Joe hurried to his Chevy to follow Louis. He had the man's home address, but while Louis headed in that direction, he angled off to the east. After a ten-minute drive, he pulled into the parking lot of the bougainvillea-draped Fair Oaks Convalescent Home. A two story structure with a red tile roof, the white exterior sparkled in the sun. Louis entered carrying a book.
Joe parked across the street and waited. Louis' mother, sister, or dear aunt could still be alive. Or, perhaps Louis's wife could be a resident. He'd passed a florist on the corner, and needing a way to get more information, he’d buy a bouquet.
The shop had a humid warmth, and held the mixed scent of a dozen flowers. The owner looked up from the workbench where he was counting roses.
"If people want a dozen roses, they get twelve. Years ago, I sent out a vase with thirteen roses, and the recipient feared it was a curse of some sort." He laughed at the memory. "I told her not to worry, and to put the extra rose in a bud vase. What can I do for you?"
"My aunt moved into the Fair Oaks Convalescent Home last week, and I want to take her some flowers when I visit."
"Very thoughtfu
l, but elderly women can be sensitive to scents and don't enjoy bouquets as much as you'd think they would. I'd advise a small philodendron in a pretty pot. See if there's one you like on the shelf near the front."
"Thank you. I have a philodendron in my office, and it thrives on minimum attention."
"That's what makes them the perfect gift."
One lush plant grew in a pretty blue pot, and it wasn't more than he wished to add to his expenses. He took one of the small free cards by the cash register, and wrote only Dowell, Fair Oaks Convalescent Home. He walked down the street and entered the home's glass front doors.
A cheerful woman in a ruffled green dress seated at the desk greeted him warmly. "What a lovely plant. Is it for one of our guests?"
Joe looked at the card as though he hadn't written it himself. "All I have here is Dowell. Does that match one of your residents?"
"Yes, Patricia Dowell has been with us for two years. Poor dear had a disabling stroke and is unable to speak, or care for herself. Her husband comes by every day to visit and read to her. He often stays to help with her dinner. Just leave the plant with me, and I'll see it goes to Mrs. Dowell's room. Only close friends and family are allowed to visit our guests."
Joe placed the plant on her desk. "I understand. All we had at the floral shop was the last name, and it's an anonymous gift."
"How wonderful Patricia still has such devoted friends."
"Yes, it's a blessing."
Joe returned to his car, and took a couple of photos of the convalescent home. After waiting an hour, he saw no point in staying any longer when he now knew how Louis Dowell spent his evenings. He wondered whether Grace Adams would be sympathetic, or insulted Louis hadn't told her about his wife. It would be a good question to bring up with Mary Margaret that night.
* * *
She listened attentively as Joe described what he'd found. "He just met your client at the library?"
"Yes, and sometimes they went for coffee at a place nearby, but he didn't respond to her dinner invitations. That's what brought her to me."
"Discussing books certainly doesn't betray his wife, but it's odd he didn't mention her. Perhaps he's tired of receiving sympathy for her sad situation. If I'm ever disabled to such an extent I couldn't care for myself, please feel free to find attentive female company elsewhere. Couples really should discuss such an eventuality before they marry."
